


All is Not Quite Lost

by fictorium



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Jealousy, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium





	All is Not Quite Lost

As funerals go, it’s a lively one. Grace can’t help but like that about the Irish–not the god-fearing, miserable kind like Robert’s mother–they know how to give a good sendoff.

Is it bad that Grace isn’t even sure which of the brothers is dead? She knew both of them, after all. They’d been her accountants when she started Say Grace, before the company grew enough to bring all those services in house. Whichever one is the surviving brother, he’s got Frankie cornered by the bar, while folk music drowns out any chance of overhearing. 

Only Frankie doesn’t exactly look trapped. Dressed in black is as normal as Grace ever sees her, but even then the black velvet has some kind of pattern, the jewelry is all so handmade and too much. That used to bother Grace, as though by stepping out in public together she would be endorsing Frankie’s personal style. These days, post retirement home and post drunken cart crashing, Grace can’t muster much of a fuck about what anyone else thinks.

Besides, Frankie’s dress sense isn’t annoying. It’s Frankie. Familiar, a little wild, the first thing Grace spots in a crowd. In a room where people are trying to force their pity on her, Grace has come to value having someone, her someone, to pick out quickly and exchange an eye roll with.

She sips her martini, waits for a signal from Frankie to come and save her. None are forthcoming, which is really more indulgent than she needs to be. Patrick, that’s the one she’s talking to. Which means Liam is dead. Shame. Patrick will be following him sooner than expected if he leans in to whisper to Frankie like that again. It’s not like Frankie even hears most things in whispering range, for God’s sake.

Well. Time to play the hero. Grace is getting good at that. 

“Patrick!” She greets him, with an appropriately somber expression. “I think your wife is looking for you.”

“Oh, right.” He looks a little chastened. “Give me a call about that art of yours, Frankie. I really do know a guy.”

“Oh, I sure will. Don’t be a stranger.” Frankie gives a coquettish little wave as he leaves, letting Grace take up his position leaning against the bar. “Are you done spoiling my fun?”

“The way you flirt is shameful,” Grace says, waving her glass at the stupefied bartender in hopes of a refill. “Do you really want to end up with someone else’s husband?”

There’s that flash of… something, again in Frankie’s expression. Similar, but not quite the same as the times she’d realize she’d been the butt of Grace’s joke, before. In the old days. Before… whatever the hell this is.

“I’m simply being a comfort to the bereaved. And Patrick knows a guy who puts on shows for local artists. He’s gonna hook me up.”

“I bet he is,” Grace mutters. She takes her new glass. “Can we leave, after this drink? I think we’ve shown face.”

“What’s the hurry?” Frankie is in her element, this crowd is way more her kind of people. Sol’s kind of people. No uptight WASPy types like Grace, or at least they’re hiding out in the kitchen so far. “Anyone would think you were the one trying to get me alone.”

Grace freezes with her drink halfway to her lips. Why does that sound so appealing? Why is that what every social occasion comes down to, now: when does it get back to just being me and Frankie? “Don’t flatter yourself, Frances. You’re my designated driver.”

“You’re the only one who still lets me drive.”

“I always was a risk taker,” Grace answers with a snort. “If you don’t want to spend time with me, I can just get an Uber.”

“No, no!” Frankie downs the rest of her drink. “If we go now, we’ll miss the poetry reading.”

Grace necks her martini so fast it’s a wonder she doesn’t choke on the garnish. She doesn’t think twice about link her arm with Frankie’s. It’s just steering them to the nearest exit. 

Only once they’re in the driveway, taking careful steps down the hill to where they’ve parked on the street, Frankie comes to a sudden halt. 

“I’m not stoned,” she begins, which rarely leads to anything productive. “I mean, way less than usual. I’m half a pot brownie, and you know with my tolerance that’s less than-”

“Frankie.” Tangent averted.

“Right, gotcha. Grace Hanson, did you come and interrupt me because you were jealous?”

Of course not. What a straightforward denial. Grace doesn’t get jealous. Not over some accountant. “Believe me, you can have Patrick. Just wait ‘til his wife is done with him, okay?”

“I don’t mean jealous of me,” Frankie says, fiddling with the cuff of her dress. “I mean of him. Because he had me all to himself. And we were, we were flirting. I like to say it’s just an extension of my natural charm but-”

It’s the panic, Grace thinks. Of having a light shone where she’s been most careful to keep things in the dark. That’s why she grasps Frankie’s forearm, leaning in just a few more inches to make her. stop. talking. 

By kissing her. In front of God and half the neighborhood, not to mention all the people they know. Are they looking? Are they shocked? Grace doesn’t give a single damn. Because Frankie is kissing back, like she was just waiting for her chance. 

“Oh.” Grace can’t think what to say when she finally pulls back. 

“Well, that’s new and exciting,” Frankie teases. This time she takes Grace by the arm, guiding her the rest of the way to the car, letting her run on autopilot for a moment. Only when they’re in the car, seatbelts on and engine running, does Grace find her tongue.

“I didn’t know I was going to do that.”

“I did.” Frankie shrugs, pulling out into the quiet street. “I wondered how long it was gonna take you.”

“Oh don’t tell me,” Grace says. “You saw it in your tea leaves. No, that crystal ball you found at some garage sale I begged you to skip.”

“No, Grace.” Frankie’s voice is so soothing, even when she’s being faintly patronizing. “I saw it coming because we’ve both been wanting to do that for quite a while.”

“I should have known you’d be all zen about this.”

Frankie rolls the car to a halt at the stop sign, putting the car in park. She turns, tilting Grace’s chin up with the light pressure of just one finger. They kiss again, short but terribly sweet.

“Who can panic about something that feels like that?” Frankie asks, getting back to the business of driving. Grace can’t find the words to argue, so she settles for placing her hand on Frankie’s thigh, brushing softly over the black velvet.

“Are we going straight home?” She asks. 

“I think we’d better,” Frankie says, barely hiding a laugh.

“Why?” Grace feels one step behind on everything today.

“Because I don’t want to get arrested for indecency in this car, do you?”

Grace flushes, her cheeks no doubt glowing pink despite her makeup. “Oh, I don’t know,” she replies. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”


End file.
